


The Halla Are Screaming

by AnonymousPumpkin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousPumpkin/pseuds/AnonymousPumpkin
Summary: The night the Breach opens, Seren has nightmares beyond imagining. They have only a second of peace after waking. After that one second, there is a great ripping sound and a tug at their skin as if the very fabric of reality is being torn asunder. Then they hear the first scream and the nightmares begin anew.





	The Halla Are Screaming

**Author's Note:**

> This is me trying to work on just _posting_ stuff, goddammit. And _finishing_ stuff.
> 
> This is technically about one of my Inquisitors. Remember those "Inquisitor as Companion" things that were made when Inquisition first came out? This is loosely based on that. Otherwise, just the story of how one Dalish clan got Majorly Fucked™ by the Breach. As always, the ending is rushed and poorly executed for honestly that's just par for the course for me at this point.

_The halla are screaming._

The night the Breach opens, Seren has nightmares beyond description. They see images too terrible for words and feel pains beyond imagining. They often find themself fleeing demons or chasing on the coattails of spirits, but tonight it feels as if the presence of the otherworldly beings is pressing on them, choking them with their closeness. Demons drag long claws across their body as they pass, and spirits whisper half-mad warnings as they flee from a threat Seren cannot see. They run away from beasts composed of all their greatest fears that shout slurs and broken elvish at their back. They climb mountains of bones with flesh still clinging and blood still running, slipping and falling on the bodies of the fallen. They claw their way through the Beyond to the waking world. They have only a second of peace after waking, but it is a second where they are too aware of how hot they are despite the season, how hard it is to draw breath, how their skin crawls with the remembered sensations of the demons’ solicitations.

After that one second, there is a great ripping sound and a tug at their skin as if the very fabric of reality is being torn asunder. Then they hear the first scream and the nightmares begin anew.

They will remember the splinter they drove under the nail of their middle finger grabbing their staff and the sharp pain in their ankle as they twisted their limbs trying to leap into battle too quickly. They will remember watching the first body fall and seeing the light fade from the dying eyes of their clanmates. They don’t know what happened, but they throw themself to the defense of their clan, shouting for all who can to flee while they run forward. Confusion has broken out across the camp. Hunters scramble for weapons and are cut down before they can wrap shaking fingers around hilts or bows. Mothers and children lost one another and in their desperation simply run and pray they will find each other later. Demons fill the clearing, forms huge and monstrous, slaughtering without discrimination every living thing in reach. Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, Seren hears the familiar crackle of Nelethorn’s magic.

The world fades away to nothing but dizzying spins and burning lungs. Seren throws attack after attack at the demons, their purpose not so much to kill them as to distract them. Better they die than their clan. The sound of fire gleefully lapping at the flesh of elf and demon alike is all they can hear, so loud it drowns out even the screams of the dying. They lose themself in the rhythm of battle for what feels like an eternity. The demons are never-ending. It is easy enough to dispatch the little ones, the wisps of little more than light and smoke, but there are bigger ones, ones with bigger teeth and more solid limbs and a greater understanding of how to hurt. Seren throws themself in front of one too many fireballs, endures one too many blasts of ice like a giant’s punch. By the time they stumble out of the camp, their beautiful camp, flaming and empty save for them and the dead or dying, they are gasping, sparking, they feel like more pain than elf.

_The halla are crying._

Hours after the Breach opened, Seren is walking barefoot through the autumn chill, clutching their staff as tightly as they can, given how badly their fingers tremble. They wish desperately for silence, but there is none. Faintly they can still hear the crack of fire and the roar of demons, and behind them, they hear the weeping. The shadows of their clan behind them are taller than they, stretching out to point in the direction of the mountains. Their footsteps are drowned out by the sobbing. Wretched and unashamed sobbing. Children, parents, lovers, friends, they all mourn the fallen. So many have fallen. Even after fleeing the campsite, some of the injured fell to the ground and did not rise and, too scared to do anything else, their loved ones were forced to walk on. They couldn’t stop. Every absent face is a knife in their backs, but they walk on. They cannot do anything else.

The sky is dark and sickly green. As they’d come to a rise, Seren had had the irresistible urge to look back. Their eyes had caught first on the ruins of their camp, and the strange green lights that shone over it, the origin of the demons. Even from this distance, they felt the unmistakable buzz of the Beyond on their skin and could hear the sounds of the world ripping slowly around the...the what? The _holes_? Were those portals to the Beyond itself? Every now and then the portals would flare up and spark, and more demons could pour through. Soon, the valley would be crawling with them. Their stomach tightened and their heart nearly burst.

Their eyes had traveled a bit further back then, and for a moment their camp was all but forgotten. In the horizon, they could see the source of it...and they knew beyond a doubt that was the source. The sky was darkest there, and they could see the clouds moving in a massive ring around a huge green light like a beacon. Even now, it flares and flashes like a bonfire when they look back, and they cannot help whispering fervent, desperate prayers as they walk. _Mythal, All-Mother, guide me...guide me that I may guide them...please._ Seren would accept any guidance now, any support at all, even from a deity long gone.

Nelethorn is dead and with him more than half their clan...most of the hunters, the fathers, the elders, all gone. All who could’ve fight did and all who fought fell. The aravels are destroyed, and even if they aren’t, it isn’t safe to go back and get them. The clan is walking through the clan with only what they can carry. Few people thought to grab their belongings when fleeing, and everything the clan possesses could now fit on the backs of a few halla. This is a wretched blessing in disguise, as more than half the halla perished as well. Those that live walk with heavy feet, heads bowed. They cry as mournfully as the others. The sound of it breaks Seren’s heart.

With every step, Seren feels daggers digging deeper into their gut. Each blade is a truth, coated in venomous fear. They are Keeper now. Half the clan is dead. Demons fall from the sky. They are not safe. They will fail. Their heart grow heavier and it becomes a struggle to raise one foot and then another. They cry as they walk and the cold makes the tear burn the corners of their eyes. They feel their body beginning to lag, to slow, and eventually, they come to a complete stop. They will let the clan walk on without them, but this moment, they just need...they need…

Their head falls forward and they squeeze their eyes shut, trying to block it all out. Just for a moment. A moment of peace is all they need.

The forest is quiet around them... _quiet_? They open their eyes and look over their shoulder with the uncertain cautiousness of a child. Behind them, the clan has stopped as well. A few are collapsed in the snow, holding themselves or one another. Some simply stand as they do, heads bowed. But many of them look at Seren, eyes dark and expectant. Their eyes are raw with grief and filled with _questions_. It’s too soon for them to put their uncertainties into proper words, but it will not be long now. Now they look to them only for comfort, for some sense of security. Seren meets their scrutiny with huge, tear-filled eyes. They do not inspire confidence, nor offer comfort save the comfort of knowing they too grieved. They consider this their first failure.

They walk only a little further that day. Though grief drags at their feet, Seren knows they must at least get far enough away that they cannot _hear_ the demons any longer. They stop in a thicket of trees so dense that they can’t even see within. They guide everyone in, and backtrack to make sure no one has been left behind. When all are present, they light a fire (they are amazed they can even manage that; their mana is still exhausted from the fight), and for the first time they fall to their knees. They know they should be moving around, offering comfort and tending wounds, and in just a moment, they will. For now, all they can do is stare at the fire and pray that their tears dry soon. It is going to be a long winter.

_The halla are sleeping._

It is not the most comfortable place they’ve ever slept, but Dalish do not complain...not about accommodations, at the very least. The cave is out of the way, and it is dry, and once they light fires, it is warm enough. The clan huddles in tight groups, arms wrapped up and tangled in one another. Gone is the gaiety and ease of the weeks before. Now they are isolated and uncertain and trapped, and there is a child at their head.

They haven’t strayed from the waterfall, not once in the weeks since they’d found this shelter. The rifts don’t close, not by themselves, and soon the valley below is crawling with more demons than even all the mages of the clan combined can fight. Every now and then, Seren will send a scout out to try and find a way through, but after the third fails to return, they keep everyone inside. Only reluctantly do they send teams of hunters out, and that is because the clan’s stores of food had been left in the rush.

It is only a matter of time before the demons find them up here, and Seren doesn’t know what do when that time comes. Fight, they suppose, though most of the fighters are already dead.

Seren leans heavily on their staff, looking over their torn clan with despair. They know they should be moving about, offering help and counsel and comfort, but they cannot even comfort themself. There is a terror like a dragon’s jaws that’s taken hold of their chest. They are at the mouth of the cave, apart from the clan, under the pretense of keeping watch and keeping up the barrier. In reality, they are only doing one of those things. It is little trouble for them to keep the barrier sustained, but they have spent most of their vigil looking down. They can’t look out, not to the sick sky and the dying forest and the spreading flame.

They are so distracted that it is not until the shadow falls directly over them that they realize the hunters have returned.

They let out an undignified squeal, clutching their staff tightly. The sound makes the hunters jump back, but they relax when they realize it is only their First being their usual flighty self. The eldest laughs, and it is a high and nervous sound. When he grins, it is like a wolf’s grin with all teeth and no mirth.

“Peace, da’len,” he says, raising his hand and displaying his catch for them to inspect. “The animals have fled from the demons, but we’ve come far enough that there are still some left. It helps that we all went the same direction.”

Seren flounders for words. “That’s...good.” It comes out too loud, too forceful. They flinch at the sound of their own voice. “Good...take it in, I’ll make...something with it. Something.”

He nods.

“Good.” Seren’s gaze drops to the hunters’ feet. None of them move. For a moment, all they are aware of is the weight of their eyes, pinning them to the stone.

“Da’len…” The hunter continued, his voice carefully neutral and soft. “Our passage may be easier if you remove the barrier.”

“Oh. Oh, yes.” They kept their head down as they dissolved the barrier, unwilling to look any of them in the eye. Their face flushed as the party brushed past them, and they pretended to focus on bringing the barrier up again so that they did not have to think about how their face burned and their stomach twisted.

The hunters brush past them and Seren hears the eldest begin to gently give the others orders, giving them direction and guidance…like _they_ should be doing.

Rather than face the guilt that begins to eat at them, Seren turns away and does what they told everyone they were supposed to be doing. Nothing comes for them, not that night nor the night after nor the night after that, but Seren stands watch anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> what the hell am i doing dot jay peg


End file.
